The Book Was Better

I remember my teacher read a couple of chapters every afternoon to our Grade 4 class back in the late 1970s. It was hilarious, especially the mean spirited humor and the insulting things Harriet always wrote about people in her notebook. Our teacher even gave us the assignment one day to take our notebooks outside during recess and write down what we observed in the playground.

It was disappointing when the teacher one day finished the book. I had enjoyed it so much. She ended it by reading the biography on the book's jacket about the author, Louis Fitzhugh and how she liked to paint. None of us knew she was already long dead. She passed away in 1974 of a brain aneurysm.



The more I study it, the greater the puzzle becomes.
The Golden Voyage of Sinbad